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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121375">In the House of Cedar and Pine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi'>LadyChi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>12 Monkeys (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How they got to their happily ever now. A post-finale expansion fic because I loved everything about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Cole/Cassandra Railly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the House of Cedar and Pine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much to rebuild her life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that it needs rebuilding, in this timeline. She carries the burden of </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> inside her mind -- knowing what was, what could never be, now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who</span>
  </em>
  <span> could never be. With that knowing, her relationship with Aaron ends quietly. Her practice, she establishes with hard work, taking care of children every single day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Athan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Athan will never be, not in this timeline. And her body doesn’t carry the signs of carrying him anymore. Once upon a time, her stomach had stretch marks, so did her breasts. James had kissed them, once. She’d held him as he cried, as Athan became real for the first time to him. A reality she’d been living with, a burden she’d been carrying, a hope she’d been harboring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of that mattered anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a while she was numb. Then the pain of it -- of losing everything -- of giving everything up, was a razor in her side that she took with her everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, miracle of miracles, she began to heal. What she lost became a phantom limb -- something she always knew was there, but the loss of it, she’d adjusted to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was hard to make friends, living in this new reality. She thought about support groups -- mothers who’d lost children, spouses who’d lost their partners, but in this timeline, in this reality, she’d never had those things. It could be easily proven she had not. So maybe healing was a slower process than it could have been, had she had anyone to talk to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the house came up for sale, she hesitated for not even a second. It wouldn’t be torture, she told herself, more of an honoring of what had been before, to restore the house, make it comfortable, live in it once again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She did as much as she could herself, and she saw his face whenever she did. She remembered painting the living room once before, scrubbing out cabinets with him, with James. The apocalypse had made its people self-reliant. James could, and did, wield a hammer as well as he could a gun, plant crops and harvest them, build fence and live in the wild. Some of those things had come in handy when they were remaking the farmhouse for the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The house of cedar and pine </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a small room next to her bedroom They’d talked about making it the nursery, painting it a soft yellow. They’d never gotten as far as building furniture or gathering the things they would have needed for an infant. She never had a blanket with his name embroidered in it, had never had a baby shower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Never got to love him, anticipate him, hope for him, the way she wanted to. Before she’d gotten a chance to do any of that</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At any rate, whenever she passed that room in her new house, she laid a hand on the door. It remained closed. She was healing, but she wasn’t there yet. Maybe that wound wouldn’t ever close. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She went to work, she healed as well as she could, she came home. She made herself instant noodles and ate supermarket salads, she watched the sun set, she read books (she’d gotten used to the relative quiet of the 2040s and couldn’t bring herself to watch TV very often), she made notes, she went to bed. She slept on the left side, and laid her hand on the pillow next to hers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thanks to Time, she lived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jennifer knew he was coming, which was his saving grace. She had more money than she knew what to do with, and so she could make him appear -- in databases, in school records, in the Social Security system. Now it appeared to the world as though he’d been working Markridge security for several years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” she told him, “in fact, you don’t have to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t know if you’re the kind of person who can do nothing, but don’t think you need to worry about a job, or anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She showed him the bank account she’d set up for him, and his stomach had roiled. “It’s too much, Jennifer. It’s way too much.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You totally Messiah’d yourself for seven billion people, and this is like, two days worth of income for me,” she told him. “It’s no biggie.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d packed a suitcase for him, the kind of things he’d worn before, the kind of things he’d be comfortable in. Jeans -- not broken in, he’d have to wear them several days in a row for them to really be comfortable. Henleys, plaid shirts, jackets with sherpa fur lining them. Good quality stuff. Enough to get him started, in upstate New York, where Cassie was. In the house of cedar and pine, Jennifer told him. Where she was always meant to be. Where he was meant to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “She’s been waiting for you, without knowing she’s waiting for you, if you know what I mean, Otter Eyes.” She’d wrapped him in a hug before she sent him on an airplane north -- the Markridge private jet. She smelled good -- better than she smelled in the apocalypse, but still her. “You’re a good man, James Cole. Even time thinks so.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked down a path that was familiar to him, and had an odd sensation of coming home to somewhere he’d never properly been before. Good shoes on his feet, thick socks. Everything new, everything slightly uncomfortable. He’d taken three showers in three days. Would she recognize him if he was this clean? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t shave, hoping at least the scruff would help him feel familiar in this world that was familiar but somehow alien to him. He wondered if he would ever feel like he belonged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, Ramse was just a little kid. Jennifer told him Cassie would remember him, but -- well, it wasn’t that she was crazy or couldn’t be trusted, she always told the truth, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d survive without her, if she didn’t remember. Or he’d work, he’d show her, he’d fall in love with her again, and again. A blank slate wouldn’t be the worst. Or had they fallen in love with each other because of the grooves time had worn in their souls that matched?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They said good-bye once. In the room with the machine, yes. But in their bedroom first. Slow hands and sweet kisses, making love slowly, achingly. Trying to carve space in each other bodies for the other. Knowing she would forget him. Knowing he would never exist. Trying to become permanent in the face of unforgiving Time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s likely she won’t remember. He tried to prepare for that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or maybe -- maybe, they’ll have that sweet pleasure-pain again of finding each other again. He remembers -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>after an hour, after a minute, after a second apart -- we can have forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now. With an ending. That makes it real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sees Cassie before she sees him. And his heart leaps up in his throat and his stomach is in knots. Another time, another place, he’d seen her first. He’d been a little in love (nothing like he felt now), sure that he was going to ruin her life. There’s no promises now, but there’s a pleading in his mind, a hope for one last gift from the universe.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Death can be undone. Love cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Surely across time, across space -- surely they’d bound their hearts so securely to each other -- tethered them there, that -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s sitting on the porch, surrounded by flowers. Flowers she’d grown because she had time and inclination and skill. Things she’d never had before. On the porch, comfortable furniture. The door is painted the bright green they’d always talked about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is there a spot for him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Time knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jennifer had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But it also knows -- it owes you one</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But is the one another shot? Or is the one a shot with all of the things he’d never really dared to hope for, the dreams he’d kept so precious he’d never even told them to Cassie. A home. Regular access to food and clean water. And security enough to hope for children, fatherhood, not to dread it because there’s nothing in the world but pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sees him. She stands up. And on her face…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Recognition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Love. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Learning each other again -- it takes some time. They’re used to it, they have a quick shorthand -- do you remember this? Do you still, are you…? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Questions answered, questions asked. She takes a day off of work and they open up the room she hasn’t yet, and they make plans to paint it yellow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In hope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She goes back to work. He takes a little more time. Works on the house. Watches YouTube videos about plumbing and wiring. Thinks he might someday have to have a job, a regular one, where he shows up and works regular hours. With his credentials, he could do anything. He’s been a factory worker, a survivalist, in this world, he’s supposed to have worked security. He’d like to give up the guns, all of it, but it’s what he’s good for, what he was designed for, like Cassie was designed to be a healer. He’s always been a soldier of some kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The local police force advertises that they’re hiring. Cassie doesn’t love it, but she loves him, knows he feels like he still owes a lot back to the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes the job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They slow dance to </span>
  <em>
    <span>These Arms of Mine</span>
  </em>
  <span> in front of a Christmas tree they’ve decorated. He holds his breath all day. Cassie isn’t pregnant. They haven’t talked about trying yet -- only in vague terms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What she does ask is if he’s ready for her to stop… preventing it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He says he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he goes to town and buys her a ring. Not because they need a wedding, but because now that he has something closer to a lifetime, he’d like to promise it to her, if they have a child. Or if they don’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When it happens, when she conceives… they both cry. He kisses her cheeks, her palms, her stomach. Loves her thoroughly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do we do if it’s a boy?” Cassie asked, tears in her eyes. “What if it’s Athan?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll know,” James says, all the certainty of the universe behind him. “If it’s Athan, we’ll know. I think… I think in some ways, he was meant to be. Maybe this child will be him. I’d sure love a shot to know him. To raise him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, too. But not knowing is breaking her heart. The ultrasound confirms… it’s a boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They get home and she collapses to the floor, taking him with her. She lost Athan, and now she has him again, but the loss never really goes away. They live in this state, where they get to know him, and they didn’t get to know him and lost him, at the same time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing is ever simple.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James paints the room yellow. They look at baby furniture on the internet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jennifer sends them a stuffed unicorn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A package arrives from Jones -- someone with whom they’ve yet to have any contact in this life. It’s a blanket, with Athan’s name embroidered in blue thread.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassie goes into labor on a Tuesday in the middle of the day. She’s later than her due date, which she told him had happened before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He holds her hand, breathes with her, listens to her as she labors. It’s nothing like TV. She does groan and moan, but she doesn’t curse him, doesn’t blame him. She’s a warrior, his Cassie, and this is her mission, her sole concentration on the moment at hand, bringing their child into the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She falls back against the tub, and the midwife hands her their son and it’s looking down at Cassie, looking at Athan that James thinks…</span>
  <em>
    <span> oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh. There you are. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassie is crying and Athan is crying and James is… in awe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And also crying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fatherhood… something he’d been denied before. Now that he’s had the privilege, he’s even angrier than he was before, against people long dead and who won’t ever exist. He didn’t know what he was missing, the way Cassie knew what she was. She’d had a mother, and a childhood… he hadn’t really. But now he gets to be on this side of it. Gets to walk the hallway when Athan is fussy in the middle of the night. Change the diapers. Watch Cassie nurse him. Give him kisses and love him so entirely, with every fiber of his being that he wondered how he ever thought he knew what love was before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes Athan out on the porch as the sun is setting. It’s chilly, so they won’t stay long. “This is our house of cedar and pine,” he tells his son. “We’ll have our perfect moments here. And our imperfect ones. And we are so very, very glad you’re here.” </span>
</p>
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